Dark Soul Surrenders
by DarkExperience
Summary: Altaïr has imprisoned the feeling of love deep in the core of his dark soul, never letting it surface. But at some point in one's life, everybody loves. And so Altaïr's dark soul starts to surrender. Note: Gay Romance, Rated MA, no AC spoilers.
1. Chapter 1: Imprisoned

Okay. My first real story here. I hope there aren't any grammar or spelling mistakes. Would love to get some reviews :). The first chapter is a bit shorter because I suck at long introductions and also because I didn't want to scare any readers off by the first chapter being too long.

**WARNING:** Rated MA. May include explicit adult themes and language.

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**Chapter 1: Imprisoned**

He was looking down...into the empty, nocturnal streets. Only a few people still being awake, only a few, small lights still burning, bathing the city in a soft contrast between the blue night-sky and these orange, dim lights. He inhaled the cool, clear air, enjoyed the silence. The sky was crystal clear, the stars shining bright, and it almost seemed to him like this very moment was not from this world. It felt surreal, better than a puff on a hashish pipe. Definitely better. And definitely far less sense depriving.

He ignored the coldness, ignored the loneliness, too. Loneliness. That was the one-word-description one would give of him. But he didn't care, liked the way he chose to live. Sometimes, he thought about what a normal life would be like. Sometimes, he thought about what having a wife and children would be like. But as soon as he thought of it he started disliking it. He didn't know why. He had never had a relationship in his life and the thought of having one felt strange to him.

He was unable to love. (At least that's what he made himself believe.) He had not felt love anymore since his parents had been killed when he was a child. Love disgusted him. Love made a man blind. Love was poison, poisoning the minds of men and women alike. Love was the enemy he fought in his life. Love was what he had imprisoned deep inside the core of his dark soul. And whenever it tried to get out he repressed it.

He sometimes felt this urge…to love. But whenever he did he covered it with sarcastic lines and taunting. And he tried to forget about it as soon as it was over. Not realising what he would have to realise someday: that everyone needed love.

His red sash was waving steadily in the calm wind. He pulled his white hood farther forward, making even more of his face being engulfed by black shadow. And he smiled self-complacently, putting his thighs in position against his upper body, wrapping his arms loosely around them, making his head rest on top of his knees.

He started biting the nail of his right index finger. He often did that when he was secluded, thinking. What he was trying to find, that he didn't know. An answer…to something…everything. He really didn't know.

It got colder, making him freeze a little bit, giving him goose bumps. He ignored it. The same way he ignored everything else. The same way he ignored that hole caused by his loneliness of which he didn't know how to fill it. Because he didn't know what it was like not to be lonely. And he probably didn't want to know.


	2. Chapter 2:To Die Or Not To Die

Second chapter. Still quite short. Sorry. Thanks for the kind reviews :)! I again hope that there are no mistakes in it.  
**NOTE:** Chapter has been updated since it was first put online.

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**Chapter 2: To Die Or Not To Die**

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Ten years earlier...

He was trying to walk against the hot, burning wind. It carried grains of sand with it, making it grind his skin painfully. He tried to protect his deep, blue eyes with his hands, tried, to ignore the burning pain on his skin. Every step hurt. He could already feel the heat of the hot sand he was walking on through the outworn, ridiculously thin soles of his leathern shoes, making it even harder to keep going. Why not just give up? Why not just lie down and let the heat do the rest? Why not just let the hot, flying sand cover his body and let him rest? Why did he keep going? Why did he keep on hoping? There was nothing to hope for. Nobody would find him out here. Nobody was there to rescue him.

He suddenly felt the hammering pain that had – until now – been overshadowed by his aching legs. The pain in his forehead. No. At the back of his head!? He couldn't tell. It felt like his whole head was cooking, like his brain had been badly knocked about between the walls of his now booming cranial cavity. His black, sand-filled hair had lost its glow and the sand made his scalp itch. He thought about what had happened. He didn't remember. The only thing he remembered was this voice...a woman...screaming his name. His name...his name...what was his name? He tried to listen to his memory of the woman's scream. Tried to understand it. He knew what she was screaming...but at the same time he didn't. It felt so strange. Did it have something to do with the unbearable pain in his head? Was this scream really a memory? Or were the heat and the hunger finally showing their effects? Had this woman really screamed his name? Or was it just his subconscious playing with him? What the hell had he done in this goddamned desert?

He continued his hopeless way through the seemingly never-ending sea of sand, leaving his fading footsteps behind. The pain didn't stop, the sun didn't do him the favour to sink, continued burning his arid skin mercilessly. The sweat had long stopped running. Probably because there was no water left in his body. He knew he wouldn't make it. The first vultures started circling over his head, announcing his nearing end. He saw some rocks in the distance which seemed to provide some shade. He walked towards them, feeling his life drain with every step. He at least wanted to relish the comfort the shadows of the rocks provided in these last few minutes he had to live. He forced his reluctant legs to move, forced them to bring him to the rocks. He had to fight them, had to use all the energy he had left to make his aching, heavy legs move. Step after step, breath after breath, heartbeat after heartbeat. The air cleared up, making the blowing wind more bearable. Now that the burning grains of sand had vanished the wind cooled him down a little bit, made his black, torn cloak wave around his legs. With his last bits of energy he reached the rocks. He sat down, his back against the hard rock, and let the death wrap its arms around him, embracing him, dragging him into a long sleep and he heard it again...

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Screaming...screaming...name...woman screaming my name...name...my name...screaming...MY NAME...

"PHILIPPE!", he screamed, immediately starting to cough hastily as he swallowed up the water in his mouth...water?

Philippe needed some seconds to realise what was going on. There were two men standing next to him. One was holding a water skin. They had obviously been startled by Philippe's sudden awakening and slowly came closer again. The man with the water skin held it out to him. Philippe grabbed it thirstily, letting its delicious, cold content pour into his mouth. He had never noticed before how wonderful the taste of water was.

"Thanks.", he answered, drying his lips, "Who are you?" The men were wearing white garbs with hoods hiding their faces and red sashes decorated their waists. Philippe noticed their weapons. Were they robbers? But what did they want? He obviously had nothing worth being robbed. But if they were no robbers...what else did they do in the middle of the desert with fast horses and a whole arsenal of weapons?

"That doesn't matter.", the one holding the water skin said, "What are you doing here? A helpless boy of...what...15 years? Alone in the desert?"

"I...I don't know.", he answered truthfully, "I can't remember anything. Only that woman screaming..."

"What's your name?", the man asked.

"Philippe...I think...I can't remember...I..." He was still confused and his vision was blurred. Was this a dream? Was he dead? Was he still living? What had happened to him?

"Good,...Philippe.", the other man suddenly said. According to his voice he was quite a bit younger than the man with the water skin. But still older than Philippe. "We'll take you with us. Okay?"

"Yes, please!", he answered immediately. All his thoughts suddenly vanished. Going with them? Going away from this inhospitable place?

"Okay. Hurry up. We need to get out of here before it darkens. This area is very dangerous at night.", the younger man continued, reaching out his hand to help Philip get up. He was wearing leathern, fingerless gloves. Very outworn.

The two went to their horses. Philippe followed the younger one and – after the man had heaved himself onto the black stallion – got onto the horse with ease.

"You're familiar with horses?", the older one asked.

"I don't know. Seems that way.", Philippe answered. He reluctantly wrapped his arms around the young man in front of him, but payed attention to not leaning against his back, and they started riding through the desert. Riding through this glowing, red landscape, over hot, burning mountains and dunes until they finally – at sundown – reached the border of this bleak, waterless sea.

The landscapes started to get more bearable. Still hot. But in comparison to the heat he had felt in the desert it was comfortably cool. And it would get even cooler soon as the night was coming.

About an hour later they arrived at a small pond and decided to take a small rest. They got off the horses, letting them drink some water. Philippe sat down, saw his reflection on the surface of the murky water. He touched his face, ran his fingers over the European features he saw in the reflection. He didn't recognise this man he saw. He was a stranger to himself. A single tear formed in his left eye. He tried to hold it back, wipe it off. But as he winked it started to run down his cheek until it fell down, hitting the surface, making the reflection of his face wave. He hastily dried his eyes using the black sleeve of his garbs and got up. He turned around, and saw the younger man who had stood behind him. Had he watched him? He didn't have time to think about it as a question was still preying on his mind. "Could you _now_ tell me who you are and where you are taking me?"

"I'm Saïd.", said the younger one, "And that's Talal.", he pointed at the older one who was sitting some meters away. "We're on our way to Masyaf."

"Masyaf? The assassin's fortress?"

"Yes. Exactly."

Philippe couldn't say anything. Those friendly two men who had helped him...they were assassins.

"We need to continue.", Saïd said, grabbing the reins of his horse.

They were silent for the rest of the journey. They arrived at the village gates in the middle of the night, got off the horses, sleepy. And the assassins lead Philippe to Al Mualim who would decide his fate.

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Thanks for reading! And thanks for the reviews. Please keep reviewing :D. And before you are asking: No. That is not the same Talal as in Assassin's Creed. I was just too lazy to think of new names :p. Next chapter will be in the "present" again. I just needed a flashback to introduce Philippe.


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